


Sealing The Deal

by morganya



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-02
Updated: 2007-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 06:59:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganya/pseuds/morganya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're at what should be the end of a long night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sealing The Deal

"I think I want an entourage," he tells William, at what probably should be the end of a long night. They're pressed up against each other in the booth at the back of the bar - pretty shaky excuse for a VIP section, Travis thinks - and the DJ's playing some crap that is just embarrassing everyone. There are a couple of girls on the floor, swaying back and forth, but their hearts aren't in it.

William looks up from his whiskey. "Like, a serious entourage? Or just people to hang out with?"

William's in town for some promotional thing - radio or television or street mime or some damn thing - and it's been a long time since Travis took him around the bars. They started at Angels and Kings and gradually worked their way around all the bars Travis knows, which is a lot. He doesn't really know this particular bar too well, Sashi told him about it and said it was cool and Sashi is one to be trusted. Maybe they're just here on an off night.

"I'm talking serious," Travis tells William. "The whole thing. Except I wouldn't have some wimpy entourage like publicists and security and whatever. I'd just have people around for doing silly shit. Like, people who would cut my food in restaurants. I'd hire some big dude to give me piggyback rides everywhere. Real gangsta stuff."

"I don't think they'd stay with you very long," William says. "I mean, when your only job is cutting up salad and whatever? The burnout rate has to be high."

"I'd have a lot of résumés sent to me. I'd have a big job pool, you know what I mean? Plus I'd trick them. I'd tell them they were going to be like curing cancer or some shit and then I'd spring it on them after they signed the contract."

William says, "Why don't you just make them give up their firstborn child while you're at it? You're going to get so sued."

"I'll have a lot of lawyers in my entourage," he says. William laughs.

It's been a long time since they've hung out together - he thinks the last time he even saw William was at Pete's birthday party, and then there were too many things happening all at once to really sit down and shoot the shit. Travis is pretending that this night isn't going to end and that William isn't going to get on a plane to wherever he's going in the morning. He thinks he can stretch the hours out like caramel.

"So what kind of graffiti they got in the bathroom?" he asks.

"It's all, like, whitewashed," William says. "You can tell someone went in there and started writing stuff on the walls, but someone scrubbed it off. It smells like a hospital. A not very good hospital."

"What's the point?" Travis says. "I mean, this place is acting like a dive bar anyway. There's supposed to be shit all over the walls and bodies on the floor and whatever."

"Oh, dude," William says, suddenly excited. "There're _carvings_."

"What?"

"Carvings. Like, it looks like someone fuckin' hacked at the walls with an exacto knife. It's all kind of swirly. You can't wash those out," he informs Travis.

"I wanna see. I have to piss anyway. Come on."

"I haven't finished drinking yet. Anyway, you break the seal and it's going to be bad. You'll be peeing on lampposts and stuff all night."

"Yeah, but I do that anyway."

"You're gross," William says happily.

"Man, you're observant." Travis unwinds his legs from the booth and walks towards the bathroom.

It's way too bright inside, and it smells like a swimming pool. Travis searches the walls for some kind of poetic statement, even the drunk-at-three-in-the-morning poetics like, "Suck my cock," or "Bullshit." All he can find is tile. He looks back at William and makes a face. William watches him, still holding his drink, leaning on his heels in the doorway.

"I don't know why you're looking," he says. "Are you trying to find atmosphere? Is that it?"

Travis lights a cigarette. "Not atmosphere. I'm lookin' for...I don't know, artistic merit or some shit. Something."

"I don't know if you can find that in a bathroom, Travie."

"Didn't stop _you_ looking."

"I don't know," William says. "How do you find something like that, anyway?" He sips at his drink. "Trying to make connection. We're always kind of stuck in the bathroom at the end of the night, and writing on the walls like it's going to mean something. Then it gets scrubbed off and you shouldn't have fuckin' bothered."

William's at the point in the night where he starts to get deep and philosophical and rambly. In a couple of minutes he'll be talking about how impossible it is to connect. and how he's going to fix that somehow; he's going to, like, write a song or build a bridge or something. He'll have very definite reasons why he's right. Travis always has to pick whether he wants to nod along with him, hug him or laugh at him. It usually depends on the point of the night where he's at.

At the moment, he kind of wants to laugh. He grunts something noncommittal to avoid hurting William's feelings and turns his back, examining the wall very closely. He can see some sort of pattern, hacked into the tile. He leans closer, trying not to touch the wall.

Travis crushes his cigarette out and lights another. "You think they were trying to say something here?"

"I don't know," William says languidly. "It's like, it's so impossible to reach out sometimes. It's like you're trapped in a room, you know, and you can't hear anything but what's in your own head, and - _ah!_ "

He still had his back turned, so all he hears is the sound of glass hitting porcelain and smashing like a Christmas ornament, a groan of metal coming apart, and William's yelp. He turns around; one of the sinks is lying on the floor, William's glass shattered and the whiskey diluting in the water, and William pressed up against the opposite wall by a stream of water shooting from the hole where the sink used to be.

"Fuck!" He drops his cigarette and pushes through the pulsing water to shove William out of the way. William stares at him wide-eyed, mouth popping open and shut, soaked to the skin and bewildered. Water is streaming over Travis' sneakers and someone is shouting outside the door, "Fuck, what _is that?_ "

"We're out of here," Travis says. He throws an arm over William's shoulders and pulls him to his side, walking very fast out of the bathroom with William curled under his arm, hoping it looks like he's just drunk. He thinks if he leads with his body out the door, keeping William as under wraps as he can (he's a skinny motherfucker, but he's still not exactly invisible), no one will notice anything amiss. William seems like he's gone catatonic or something; he follows Travis without protest, his mouth still popping open and shut.

Luckily, everyone seems to be more concerned with the tidal wave seeping out from under the men's room door than in them, so they make it outside in two seconds, tops. Travis' side is soaking wet; he lets go of William to try to wring his shirt out. William's hair is plastered to his head, strands stuck to his forehead and in his eyes. He flaps his arms, splattering drops on the pavement. Travis waits until he finds his voice.

"I just _leaned_ on it," William says, and it's hard to tell whether he's outraged or amazed. "I just _leaned_ on the thing, and it broke. Not even hard."

"What have you been eating?" Travis says. "Maybe you should go on Atkins."

"Sinks aren't supposed to break," William says. "That's what they do, _not break_."

Travis starts laughing. He can't help it; William looks so bedraggled and shocked that it's ridiculous. William abruptly decides that he's outraged at the situation and starts flailing punches at him.

"Shut it. Shut it. It's not funny."

"Yes, it is," Travis wheezes.

"It _isn't._ I was going to wear this for the interview tomorrow. What am I going to do now?"

Travis, still laughing, says, "My apartment. You can get your raggedy ass back to my apartment –"

" _Shut it_ , asshole!"

"And dry off," he finishes. "If you're nice I'll let you do some laundry."

"Fuck you," William says. He's on the verge of a massive sulk, and it's going to take a lot of wheedling to bring him back.

"I've got booze there. C'mon, that place was shitty. I'm going to kick Sashi's ass for telling me about it. The kid's got no discrimination. Now at least it can't ruin anyone else's night."

"I'm soaked."

"Come dry off. Hurry before they figure it out and we get arrested for vandalism. Or you get arrested. I'm an innocent bystander."

" _All_ your booze," William says sullenly. He starts walking. His shoes make this really funny squishing sound and Travis has to chew on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing again. "I want _all_ your booze, Trav."

"Open bar. Wait up."

"No," William says, but comes to a stop and waits for him.

Back at his apartment, William immediately heads towards the washer. Travis searches through the refrigerator, trying to act like a good host, but all he can find is salsa and an already open bottle of Diet Coke. He doesn't want to even think about what sort of life forms have started growing in his soda, so he leaves it alone. He thought he had chips or something lying around, but he doesn't. He sticks a spoon into the salsa and follows in William's wake.

William has this put-upon why-does-everything-happen-to-me face on him when Travis pokes his head around the doorframe. William's shoes are in the corner; he's got his socks dangling in his hands, like dark soggy worms. His feet are stained with dye.

Travis takes a spoonful of salsa and watches him. William looks up. "You don't happen to have any beer around, do you?"

"I thought I did," Travis says with his mouth full. He swallows. "I thought I was gonna go shopping today."

"I didn't want any anyway," William says sullenly. He pulls his shirt off with a hiss and drops it into the washer. His shoulder blades press against the skin of his back like he's trying to grow wings. "Hey, what's that?"

"Salsa."

"Isn't that – is that how you eat it?"

"Yes. It's the best fuckin' thing I've ever tasted," Travis says. He takes another spoonful. His tongue is starting to burn. "You should take a shower."

"No shower."

"You'll catch a cold."

"I don't care. I've had enough water to last me forever," William says. He rubs the goosepimpling skin on his arms. "I'll be like the pioneers this way."

"You do that, son," Travis says. "Hey, I think I got some vodka or something in a cupboard."

"Cupboard booze, Travie?"

"Fuck you. I'm just doing my part to prolong the feeling."

"Why do you even need to? Isn't this what we always do when I come to New York?"

Travis looks at him. William gives him a puzzled, oblivious smile. He's probably already planning the morning's schedule, maybe scheduling a visit back to see him sometime in the future, whenever, nothing urgent. Travis says, "Yeah, it kinda is."

He goes back out to the kitchen, puts the salsa on the counter and goes through his cupboards until he finds a bottle of gin behind his pasta. If William's expecting an typical night out with him, then who is he to dash his hopes. He carries the bottle back to William.

William doesn't have any clothes on. He's shaking detergent into the washer, his back turned to Travis, all arms and legs and no ass whatsoever, there's barely a curve where his legs meet his torso. He turns around and looks at Travis. "Is that Seagram's? Carden told me about this thing he makes with Seagram's and Tabasco and chili pepper. Says it'll kick any hangover's ass. I don't know if I believe him."

"Dude, you're slopping out all over the place," Travis says. "What you think this is, a nudist camp?"

William gives him a puzzled look. "I thought I'd dry off quicker this way. Fresh air."

"You thought you'd dry off quicker."

"Everything was soaked anyway," William says. "My underwear, everything. Is it weirding you out?"

"No." It's not quite a lie and it's not quite the truth either.

"Can I get a sip?" William asks.

He hands over the bottle. William takes a drink and then swishes his mouthful around experimentally. He has this fuzzy kind of patch of hair running up from just above his cock to below his belly button. "Gin's, like, poison, you know," William says. "Juniper. I think it's the leaves? I don't know, when I heard that I thought it was the greatest thing, like I was taking my life in my hands or something if I got a martini, except then I found out the _berries_ were okay to eat, and it was a little disappointing. Plus I'm more of a whiskey guy. You want this?"

"Yeah, quit hogging it." It's weird how William's all angles and sharp lines except for his stomach; it pooches out softly and it really wouldn't be that noticeable if William had a shirt on. But he's completely bareass and so he looks like he's four months pregnant.

"What's this?" Travis pokes his belly. "Beer gut."

William twists away. "I don't have a beer gut."

"No, you're just carrying around fifteen pounds of extra skin."

"Don't – no, it tickles – hey, man, there's a beverage here!"

"Quit quoting," Travis says.

William holds up the bottle of gin, like that's what Travis wants; Travis plucks it from his hands and puts it on top of the dryer. William brings his arms up, knobby elbows knocking against Travis' chest. "Quit it," William says breathily.

"I don't have to do shit," Travis says, but his voice is wavering.

William presses his hip against Travis' thigh. Travis is suddenly aware of William's chest against his. Coyly, William asks, "Anything I can do to persuade you?"

"No," he says, but that really is a lie.

William kisses him, long arms resting on his shoulders. He's got no weight at all to him; Travis can feel the bones under the skin, papery and barely even there.

William pulls away. "You taste like cilantro," he says. "Salsa. Kind of soapy."

"I'm spicy and delicious, motherfucker."

William giggles. He flips a finger under the tag of Travis' T-shirt, kneading it like he doesn't know what to do. He smiles a little, uncertainly, and oh Jesus doesn't William feel like he knows him well enough by now? He's got that 'did I really fucking just do that' look on his face, and Travis grabs his skinny shoulders and kisses him again, hard, before he can decide that it was a bad idea.

He thrusts a leg in between William's knees, backing him up against the wall, William still making soft uncertain sounds into his mouth. He finally says, "Trav, I mean, I really wasn't trying to freak you out–"

"Busy. Can't talk now," he says indistinctly. William drops his hands obediently, fingers brushing against his zipper. There's the barest hint of contact – such a fucking tease, William – of long skinny fingers pressing through his pants against his inner thigh. He groans.

"Hmm," William ponders. He ducks his head and nips at the skin under Travis' jaw. Travis grabs onto his hipbone.

"Bill – c'mon, man –"

William smiles against his neck. Without a word, he's slithering down the length of Travis' body, folding his legs under him and somehow managing to fit into the tiny space, pressed up against the washer. "And you're cool with this, right?"

"Bill, _shut up_ , for Christ's sakes. You already sealed the deal, kid."

William looks up at him, considering, or feeling him out. He reaches for Travis' zipper. Travis tries to decide what to do with his hands and finally settles on resting one on the washer. When he hears the teeth coming apart, feels William's cool fingers brushing against the skin of his cock, he says, because he doesn't know what else to do, "You gotta be careful, that shit's liable to take your eye out."

"Oh, sure," William says. He touches his lips to the head of Travis' cock, sliding his tongue up and down the length.

"I'm – serious," Travis says, "It's like a nuclear missile. I'm packing heat, son."

"You talk too much," William says, and laughs. His head is nestled up against Travis' thigh; he can feel the vibrations in William's throat as he laughs, feel his damp hair rubbing against his skin.

"I'm tryin' to –" and then William takes a deep breath and sucks him in, tongue pressing hot and wet against the underside and hands gripping his thighs, exhaling through his nose onto Travis' belly, and whatever he was going to say turns into a mewling kitten noise.

William laughs again in a muffled kind of hum, sending tiny vibrations up him; it feels like electricity wrapping around his spine, like little lightning bolts. William slides his hand around, pressing his fingers somewhere in between his balls and his perineum, and for a second Travis can't tell whether he likes it or if it's fucking agony.

"No," he strangles, "No, c'mon, Bill, dude, please, I can't –"

William pulls away, and he doesn't know if that's good or bad, either. "Are you all right?" William asks, voice slurred and hoarse, lips slick with spit.

"I can't – it's too much," he says. "Too much to focus on. ADD, remember?"

William makes a sympathetic crooning noise and rubs his knee. He kisses across Travis' abdomen, down to the crease where his thigh hinges onto his hips. He rubs his cheek against Travis' crotch and then peers up, something like a smile starting. "You smell like –" He considers. "Rock and roll."

"What's that mean?" Travis says, but William just smiles and goes down on him again.

He stares down at William's shoulders, the blades stretching the skin out, so sharp they look like they could cut something. They tense and then relax as William bobs his head. William's hair is in his face, hanging down and then swooping up in between his legs, tickling and prickling. The washer clicks as it changes cycles, vibrating on the floor – cheap piece of junk.

William's mouth is wrapped around him so tight that he can feel the insides of his cheeks. He can feel the ridge of the top of William's mouth. William curls a finger around his pubic hair, tugging just a little, either on purpose or just working out a tangle, and he's sucking on the head of Travis' cock at the same time, still making that crooning noise.

When Travis comes he's surprised that his knees don't buckle.

He pulls away and gulps. He grabs the gin off the shaking washer and takes a long swallow to clear his head. William wipes the spit and come off his mouth with the back of his hand. He suddenly looks small and tired, curled up on the floor of Travis' laundry room, pressed up against the washer and the wall. He shivers.

"Right," Travis says, and pulls his pants back up. "You're getting dressed now. This floor is covered with germs and cockroach shit. You're crazy and when you get bronchitis again I'm going to laugh my ass off."

"I don't have to stand for this abuse," William says, but he's getting up, stiffly. Travis gives him a little shake from side to side, hands curling around William's shoulders, and William laughs as he walks out. Travis puts the clothes in the dryer and then goes to wash his face.

When he comes back out, William's sitting on his couch wearing one of his old shirts that's way too big for him, eating Frosted Flakes out of the box and watching some crappy informercial on his TV. He laughs a little whenever the presenter says something ridiculous, and Travis thinks that it would be easy to think that William lives here, that they do this every night, that there's no reason for William to go away.

Then William looks up and says, "I saved you a spot," and pats the cushions. Travis comes over and lolls on the space next to him.

"Let's watch something with ninjas and aliens in it," Travis says.

"Do you have anything like that?"

"No."

William sighs tolerantly. They watch the informercial some more.

After a minute, William slides over and puts his head against Travis' shoulder. He shifts to make room, fitting William under the crook of his arm. "What's up?" he says.

"Nothing," William says. "Let's pretend I don't have to leave tomorrow."

"Sounds easy enough," Travis says.


End file.
